


That's The Orcish Way, Isn't It?

by LilyOrchard, MikailaT



Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [6]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Beating, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking, F/F, Fantastic Racism, Implied Relationships, Sexism, World of Warcraft: Cataclysm, prisoners of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyOrchard/pseuds/LilyOrchard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: Anevay is called to Orgrimmar with a simple assignment: Establish a secure foothold in Ashenvale. But her effecient tactics threaten to cause a rift with the new Warchief. On the plus side, her sneering disregard toward Hellscream catches the attention of a lovely Orc woman.
Relationships: Female Blood Elf | Elves/Female Orc(s) (Warcraft), Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939501
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	That's The Orcish Way, Isn't It?

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a lot more vignette-y than the others. I apologize if you were expecting something more substantial than that. Currently bantering ideas for Anevay's potential LI, if I even want her to have one. If you care at all, let me know.

Anevay yawned as she got off of Skash’ka, ordering the Garn to sit at the entrance to Grommash Hold. She’d been woken up early by a summons to Orgrimmar from an extremely rude messenger who had pounded on the door to her quarters until she answered. Already she was in a bad mood, and the zeppelin ride over hadn’t resolved matters at all.

It had been a few months since taking the Western Plaguelands, and the Horde had begun to tighten its grip all around the world. Even in Lordaeron, Anevay had heard rumors of excursions into Vash’jir and the Twilight Highlands to battle the Twilight’s Hammer cult. Deathwing’s eruption from the Maelstrom had so far been followed by a period of eerie quiet with only the Twilight’s Hammer and the Black Dragonflight making major power plays. Nothing that needed Anevay’s attention.

Yet.

So it was a surprise to get a summons to Orgrimmar at all. Even before he had been named Warchief, Garrosh had been disbelieving of the notion that Anevay was one of the best warriors in the Horde. He’d settled down after she took out the Lich King, but word from Ambassador Sunsorrow was that he was still grumbling about it. She had apparently upset most of the Horde’s leaders with many of her recent actions, according to Sunsorrow.

She entered the Hold and approached Garrosh, who was sat on his throne with what looked like a Blackrock Orc standing nearby. “Warchief. I received your summons,” her eyes trailed over to the Blackrock and nodded. “We haven’t met. I’m Anevay Darkflare.”

“Malkorok,” he replied gruffly. 

“Darkflare,” Garrosh addressed, his yellow eyes roaming up and down Anevay’s form and the full platemail she was wearing. Even from the distance he was at he could tell that was more than simple steel she was wearing. What’s more is that it too closely resembled Sylvanas’ armor for his liking. “That armor,” he began, “...seems a little heavy for someone of your stature.”

“Elves are naturally strong. Me even more so,” Anevay said matter-of-factly. “It’s actually lighter than my previous armor set.”

Garrosh narrowed his eyes at the elf, an ominous rumble rising in his throat. “...Well I should hope so,” he said. “I do not want you failing your next assignment all because you wore armor you aren’t suited for.”

Anevay’s eyes narrowed in kind. “With all due respect, Warchief, I’m not certain why my armor is suddenly a point of contention,” she said. “I sent in several requests for new equipment several months ago that went unanswered.”

“Well apparently someone answered them, so I don’t see why you're complaining,” Garrosh barked. “Now listen! I have an important assignment for you regarding our front into Northern Kalimdor.”

“Very well,” Anevay said with a subtle roll of her eyes. “What’s going on with the Northern front?”

“A pitiful lack of proper leadership,” Garrosh scoffed, rising from his throne. “After I personally executed Overlord Krom’Gar for his dishonorable tactics, no commanding officer has been able to make a dent in the Night Elves’ defenses. This cannot stand.” He focused his gaze onto Anevay, his next words not so much respectful as they were begrudgingly civil. “After your exploits in Northrend and hearing of your victories in Gilneas, I have decided that you just might have what it takes to get our forces organized and expand our borders into Ashenvale.”

“Really?” Anevay raised an eyebrow, stepping forward tentatively. “I’ve never been entrusted with commanding anything unless the world was two minutes away from destruction. I must admit, this is a pleasant surprise, Warchief.”

“Yes, well, I would think that if there’s any race you could manage to take on, it would be your fellow elves,” Garrosh huffed, crossing his arms. “You are to report to our base in Stonetalon Mountain. From there, everyone shall be under your command. Don’t screw this operation up, Darkflare.” 

“Of course, Warchief,” Anevay nodded, pursing her lips at the backhanded remark on her strength.

As she turned to leave, she heard the heavy footsteps of Malkorok following after her. Once they were out in the open air of the Valley of Strength, she felt the Orc’s hand on her shoulder.

“Yes?” she said, shrugging his hand off of her and turning around.

“I know disrespect when I see it, elf,” Malkorok said gruffly. “Have care how you speak from here on out. So long as I am High Overlord, I shall not suffer and disrespect towards our Warchief. You will not be allowed to sow seeds of dissent on my watch.”

“I also know disrespect when I see it, Malkorok,” Anevay narrowed her eyes at the Orc. “And Garrosh insulted me first. If you think I’ll tolerate that kind of behavior from him, you are sorely mistaken. And it’s Darkflare, not ‘elf.’”

“You were the first to show disrespect the moment you walked into the room wearing _that_ ,” Malkorok countered as he shoved against one of Anevay’s pauldron. “It is no secret that the Banshee is the least honorable creature among the Horde. To so brazenly wear her colors in Grommash Hold is to disrespect the very spirit of the Horde. Whatever sinister schemes the witch has entrusted to you will not work. I will make sure of it.”

Anevay glared at Malkorok and shoved him right back, only unlike her the orc actually stumbled. “Listen here, pup. Whether you like it or not, Lordaeron and the Forsaken are part of the Horde. I live and fight there. Wearing their colors is not the act of disrespect you think it is. Also, I understand that you’re new, but I sent no less than thirty requests to Orgrimmar for new armor. If Hellscream takes issue with the colors I wear, he should have responded to one of them. But as he did not, here we are. So, do you want to try that again?”

Malkorok was imbalanced, both by the strength that Anevay so casually threw at him, and by the complete lack of fear in her eyes. The urge to spit back another threat was halted by the fire he saw in her eyes. They burned with that same demonic energy that Garrosh despised so. The energy that they collectively feared for it’s revolting properties. To stare into her eyes was to stare into that of a demon. It made it harder to remain centered.

He took a step back, letting out an indignant grunt. “See to it that we push into Ashenvale, Darkflare,” he glowered, not meeting her eyes this time.

“I will. See to it that your master behaves himself,” Anevay said, turning around and striding off.

* * *

For Ashenvale, Anevay had sent requests to Lordaeron and Silvermoon for a small contingent of Deathguard and Rangers. She also recruited a few warbraves from Thunder Bluff. The all-orc forces in Stonetalon had proven to be inadequate for a real assault, especially against Night Elves in the forest. This had been met with outrage from the Orc troops, but a few swift kicks to the stomach reminded them who was in charge. Orcs respected strength, and Anevay had a lot of that to spare.

One thing she did take notice of when she arrived was the small building housing about thirty Night Elf prisoners, all covered in wounds and with their armor torn in places. It looked like they’d been shoved into the cages haphazardly.

“What’s with these Kaldorei?” she asked one of the guards. “Why are they crammed in here like cattle?”

“To save on space,” the guard responded. “It’s impractical to offer excess space for spoils of war.”

“Spoils of War?” Anevay raised an eyebrow, looking at the Orc. “What do you mean spoils of war? These are prisoners of war. They need to be treated with a certain degree of care.”

Through the gaps in the large helm he was wearing, Anevay could tell the guard was regarding her with confusion. “...According to Horde law, an honorable victory entails that the victor can claim anything left on the battlefield left behind by the vanquished by right of conquest. Be that goods, weapons, territory or people.”

Anevay’s brow furrowed and she looked at the Orc like he had three heads. “Well, while I’m in command that law is going to be summarily ignored. Build a proper prison and get them in individual cells. Get them some fresh clothes and feed them. If they’re going to be here, they’re going to be able to rest and eat. Otherwise I will simply turn them loose back to Darnassus.”

The guard balked, looking incredulously at Anevay. “Commander! You can’t just-”

“You wanna fight me for them,” Anevay challenged, her hand resting against the hilt of her warblade. She could see the orc’s face go slightly pale. 

“...N-No Commander,” he said, wilting under his gaze. “We shall commence with the construction immediately.”

“Good,” Anevay nodded. “It’ll be a while until our reinforcements arrive, so you best get the peons working.

As she turned to leave, a hand reached out from the bars and grabbed her arm. She stopped and turned to see a Kaldorei woman looking at her. “Yes?”

“What are you going to do with us?” she asked quietly.

“You’re a bargaining chip,” she said matter-of-factly. “I need to retake the Warsong lumber camp and I’d rather do it without casualties if I can.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “R-Really?” she asked incredulously. “You’re not going to kill… or torture us?”

Within the cramped cells there was a general air of surprise and disbelief with many of the Kaldorei prisoners murmuring to themselves.

“I don’t see what I have to gain from either of those,” Anevay shrugged. “You’re of far more use to me alive and well cared for.”

Another round of murmuring was heard throughout the cells. This one was slightly louder and far more optimistic. The Kaldorei talking to Anevay looked as though she was about to cry. “Oh, Elune bless you, warrior,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “You are too kind.”

“I consider it sheer pragmatism, but to each their own,” Anevay said, pulling her arm out of the Night Elf’s grasp and continuing out to inspect the rest of the base.

* * *

The reinforcements had arrived, and Anevay was ready to get to work. The first thing to be done was to retake the lumber camp. They needed a foothold in Ashenvale otherwise they would simply break themselves upon the Night Elves’ defenses. She sent out a raven to Tyrande to offer negotiating for the release of the prisoners and swiftly received a letter in return telling her to meet at the sentry point on the border of Ashenvale. Anevay took four Deathguard as backup, much to the chagrin of the blood elves that had joined her forces, and made her way to the border of Ashenvale. As she arrived, the sentinels there beckoned her into the sentry post, where Tyrande was waiting along with a familiar face she hadn’t expected to see again.

Silysa Bladewing, the Alliance Champion. The two had met in Northrend after Silysa was stuck in a three on one fight against some Death Knights. Anevay had backed her up, and the two had maintained a friendly rivalry throughout the campaign. Anevay smiled fondly as she recalled a night where the two of them had had one too many drinks and decided to get a room together.

“Silysa!” Anevay said as Silysa rushed forward for a hug. “Small world.”

“Yeah,” Silysa said with a grin. “You show up at the home of the Night Elves and you see a Night Elf. What are the odds?”

“Champion,” Tyrande chided gently, compelling Silysa to pull away and fall silent. The Priestess’ attention returned to Anevay. “Commander Darkflare. I understand you have Kaldorei prisoners you wish to return to us?”

“Indeed,” Anevay nodded, sitting down and bowing politely before Tyrande. “I’m willing to release all of them in exchange for the surrender of the Lumber Camp.”

Tyrande arched a brow at Anevay’s words. “You would barter our people for territory in our forests?” she asked, her tone less than pleased. 

“I mean, it kind of comes down to whether you value your people more than your trees,” Anevay said with a shrug. “Honestly, I thought that went without saying.”

Tyrande opened her mouth. Then closed it. She turned her gaze to Silysa who remained at her side. 

“I mean it sounds like a generous offer, Priestess,” the warrior commented. 

“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do,” Anevay explained. “I know how unsustainable Orcish woodcutting is. Were it entirely up to me, I would go out of my way to secure a trade deal for lumber. But Hellscream, in his… _insurmountable wisdom_ , has deemed it necessary to just invade. I am attempting to make this less painful for the both of us, but the armies will have to march regardless.”

Tyrande remained silent for a moment longer. “...Very well,” she said. “Your people will have their lumber yard.”

Anevay smiled at Tyrande, only for the Priestess to hold a hand up to stop any potential response.

“On the condition that you will gather the acorns of any trees you cut down and send them to us, so that we may repair the damage your Horde has done to our forest,” she said.

“I accept that condition, Priestess,” Anevay bowed her head with a smile. She extended a hand and Tyrande accepted it. “Happy to see that we were able to reach an accord.” 

“As am I,” Tyrande nodded. “But I fear, as you said, that we will not be able to do so much longer.” She tilted her head to nod at Silysa, who moved with a pair of Sentinels to go collect the prisoners. 

Anevay turned to the Deathguard and nodded. “Two of you go with them so the Orcs don’t try and rush them the moment they have a clear line of sight.” The Deathguard bowed and followed the Sentinels.

“Curious that you employ the Forsaken in this campaign,” Tyrande said as Anevay stood up to leave.

“I serve the Dark Lady, Priestess,” Anevay said matter-of-factly as she shouldered her rucksack and left the camp.

“Really?” Tyrande’s eyes widened a fraction. “You serve the Banshee Queen over your own kin? Why?”

Anevay stopped and turned around. “Sylvanas was my friend in life. She remains so in death.”

Tyrande’s brow furrowed, perplexion still clear on her face before she simply shook her head. “You are certainly a curious woman, Lady Darkflare.”

“I get that a lot.”

* * *

Within a few weeks, the campaign in Ashenvale could be safely said to be concluded. The Horde had taken half the forest, with Anevay keeping her word to send the acorns to Tyrande by raven regularly, and the fortifications were in place to have them dug in. The entryways to Stonetalon and the Barrens were now behind their lines, allowing safe supply routes to the previously cut off settlements. All in all it had been a seamless campaign for Anevay. Though the Orcs still grumbled about their lost ‘spoils of war’ and Anevay had expressly forbidden any further capture of prisoners. They nonetheless tried, only for Anevay to have any captive’s wounds treated and sent back into enemy lines.

As the territory they seized had been completely fortified, Anevay had sent a raven to Orgrimmar the day before announcing her success. She was in her command center penning a letter back to Lordaeron to send with the Deathguard when a guard ran in telling her Hellscream had come personally to inspect her work.

“Great, as if I don’t have enough problems,” Anevay groaned as she got up and exited the command center to see Garrosh riding in on his wolf. Anevay whistled for Skash’ka and the Garn walked alongside her as she headed out to meet him.

“Warchief,” she nodded. “I’ve secured this side of Ashenvale and opened supply routes to Stonetalon.”

“So I’ve heard,” Garrosh said, disdain seeping from his voice. “I have also heard troubling things regarding your placating the Night Elves.”

“I would hardly call it placating, Warchief,” Anevay rolled her eyes. “Especially when I have taken half the forest. I did exactly as you asked me to.”

“And yet you sought as little blood shed as possible,” Garrosh huffed. 

His wolf gave Anevay a disapproving growl, prompting Skash’ka to growl back. 

“We cannot afford to be merciful to the Alliance Darkflare. Doing so was Thrall’s greatest mistake as Warchief. A mistake I do not intend to repeat.” His brow furrowed as he noted the utter lack of interest in Anevay’s expression. “I thought this would have been easy for you, Blood Elf. Do the Night Elves not look down on your breed? Consider you lesser? Do you not take pleasure in feeding the soil of the forests with their blood?”

“I take greater pleasure in minimizing our losses, Warchief. A habit I picked up commanding the Forsaken,” Anevay said tersely. “I was sent here to secure Ashenvale and create a safe route to Stonetalon. I did exactly as you asked. You’ll forgive me if I don’t share an Orcish obsession with murder.”

Garrosh sneered openly at Anevay. “I should have known one of your frail hearted race would not have the heart of a true warrior.” His sneer turned into a snarl as Anevay rolled her eyes at him. “...I will have Malkorok oversee these fortifications to see how ‘secure’ they really are. Your business is concluded here.”

“Keep insulting my capability as a warrior and you’ll soon discover just how ruthless I can truly be, Hellscream,” Anevay growled as she got onto Skash’ka. “Or do you forget how I proved myself when your fellow Mag’har gave me this Garn?”

“A warrior who has proven themselves worthy once can still prove themselves unworthy later,” he eyed his own wolf as it continued to growl at Skash’ka. “Return to your city of the dead. I will call when I have further need of you.”

Anevay turned to the Deathguard and Sin’dorei she brought with her. “Come on. Our business here is concluded. If I don’t get you safely home your respective leaders will have my hides.”

Her forces nodded and picked up their gear, mounting up and following her into the Barrens. As they left, a Sergeant turned to Garrosh quizzically. “She performed admirably and took the forest faster and with fewer setbacks than anyone else you’ve sent to manage this campaign,” he said. “And yet you sneer at her and insult her. Why, Warchief?”

“Her ways are not our ways, Sergeant,” Garrosh said in a warning tone. She surrendered rightful conquests of war. She negotiated when she should have earned the land with blood and steel. A victory means nothing if it involves sacrificing our warrior’s spirit.” His eyes narrowed on the retreating Darkflare before she vanished out of sight over the horizon. “What’s more is that I’m not unconvinced she is working in the interests of Sylvanas first and foremost. Always plotting the doom of the living in her disgusting sewer hovel. What is good for Windrunner is bad for the Horde. Unless you have forgotten the Wrathgate.”

“But Warchief. Darkflare was pivotal in ending the coup that caused the Wrathgate in the first place,” the Sergeant said. “She conquered the demons who overthrew our allies and avenged our fallen warriors. Darkflare has not earned this ire. If anything, she’s earned a promotion a thousand times over.”

“We’ve only Windrunner’s word that the events of the Wrathgate and the coup on her city were connected,” Garrosh glowered. “If anything, it was only a well timed coincidence. She always has her machinations and Darkflare is most certainly a part of it. You speak highly of her as if she wouldn’t kill us all on Windrunner’s orders. The closest thing she has to a warrior's spirit is slaughtering for that witch.”

“With all due respect, Warchief, would you not expect us to kill her on _your_ orders?” The Sergeant asked.

“The difference is that I intend to lead the Horde to a glorious future and will give my orders as such,” Garrosh huffed indignantly. “Sylvanas only wishes to make slaves of us all. I won’t let that happen.”

“If I may? Wouldn’t it then be more prudent to ensure Darkflare’s loyalty to the Horde rather than Sylvanas?” the Sergeant asked. “I fear vilifying her will only be handing the Dark Lady a deadly weapon on a silver platter.”

“That is why I gave her this command, Sergeant,” Garrosh countered, growing clearly agitated by the soldiers' continued questioning of his word. “I had expected granting her authority and a station among her fellow warriors would improve her connection to the Horde. I had expected that directing her at an enemy she would have no qualms killing would ignite her warrior’s spirit.” The Warchief let out a weary sigh. “But she decided to do things the _easy_ way. She employed Undead and Blood Elves to supersede the orcs stationed here. She gained more land through bartering than she did with battle. She looks down on us for our ways. It’s disrespectful and I will no longer stand for it.”

“Very well, Warchief,” the Sergeant nodded. “I appreciate the talk.”

* * *

Anevay stopped in Orgrimmar to restock and allow Skash’ka to rest. An unwise decision, as Garrosh had clearly shared the reports with Malkorok. As she exited the general store with a sack of bread over her shoulder, she was impeded by Malkorok and three Kor’kron. The Blackrock Orc was glaring at her venomously while Skash’ka sat beside Anevay and growled.

“What is it, Malkorok?” Anevay asked, raising an eyebrow. “I have to be back in Lordaeron before nightfall.”

“I heard you managed to disrespect our culture in your latest campaign,” Malkorok sneered. “Surrendering rightful spoils of war. Bargaining for land that should have been won by the blade. You made the Horde look like simpering cowards in your supposed conquest. The Warchief is not pleased.”

“The Warchief wanted Ashenvale. I brought him Ashenvale. He made no specifications on how I took Ashenvale,” Anevay frowned as she put her supplies in Skash’ka’s saddlebags. “He asked a Forsaken Blood Elf to take Ashenvale, so I took it like a Forsaken or a Blood Elf would. If he has a problem with my methods, I’d be more than happy to surrender Ashenvale back to Tyrande so he can do it the ‘right’ way.”

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, girl,” Malkorok huffed, crossing his arms in an attempt to be imposing. “You had a chance to prove yourself to the Warchief and you fucked it up. You’ve shown him the same disrespect as the Banshee. Now he sees you as a liability, at best. That’s a dangerous position to be in.”

“So let me see if I have this right. Hellscream thinks that the way I took Ashenvale is disrespectful of the Horde’s culture,” Anevay recounted. “So I’m to understand that the Horde’s culture is Orcish culture?”

“The Orcs founded the Horde,” Malkorok said plainly. “Those who have joined our ranks are to respect our ways first and foremost. Otherwise, they can try their luck on their own.”

“So, you would rather I do things the Orcish way from here on out?” Anevay asked, folding her arms.

“It’s always served us well,” Malkorok nodded. “And if you wanna get by in this Horde, you better shape up.”

Anevay pursed her lips and nodded. “Alright.”

There was a brief moment of silence between them before Anevay lunged forward and slammed her fist into Malkorok’s jaw, sending him to the dirt. Before he could so much as recover, Anevay was on top of him, repeatedly slamming her fist into his face over and over and over again. After a few minutes of a relentless beating, she stood up and hauled Malkorok to his feet, dazed and bleeding.

“That’s the Orcish way, isn’t it?” she sneered. “That’s what you want from me? To send my forces into certain death and doom the Horde to a prolonged suicide out of honor? Well we can do that, Malkorok. If you love your honorable deaths so much I will be more than happy to grant it to you."

Anevay leaned just a little bit closer to emphasize her point and the lumbering orc flinched back without the slightest hint of grace. “N-No!” he stammered out. 

"Good. Remember, the Orcish way is that the strongest lead," Anevay hissed. "So be careful you aren't trying to strongarm someone who could floor you in half a second, little boy."

Malkorok nodded timidly before rushing off in the other direction, his unbalanced state causing him to crash face first into a fruit stand, much to the chagrin of the vendor. 

Anevay chuckled and turned to double check Skash’ka’s saddle when she caught the sight of an orc woman walking up to her. 

“Did I just see you beat the High Overlord into the dirt?” she asked incredulously.

"He was upset that I took Ashenvale the Forsaken way instead of the Orc way," Anevay nodded. "So I handled his anger the Orcish way."

The orc woman blinked with surprise before flashing Anevay a large, toothy grin. “That’s hot.”

"Thank you," Anevay smiled right back. "I try."

The woman continued to grin, her eyes roaming over Anevay’s form. “Don’t suppose you’re in a hurry to wherever it is you’re going? I could buy you a drink.”

Anevay pursed her lips and pulled out a small scroll from Skash'ka's saddlebags. "What's today… Day 133… yeah I can spare the time. I just need to be back in Lordaeron by morning. Drinks with a friend."

“Friends already? I like the sound of that,” the orc said, extending her hand. “Names Ky’ak. Throm’Ka.”

"Anevay," Anevay said, shaking her hand. "And while I don't object to calling you friend, what I meant was I need to be home by morning because I'm having drinks with a friend tomorrow."

“Ah, gotcha,” Ky’ak said, her grin turning sheepish. “My bad. Anyway, you got a preference for drinks? There’s a place up the Drag that serves the best grog in town.”

"Warsong Ale is my drink of choice," Anevay smiled as she guided Skash'ka to follow.

“My kind of woman,” Ky’ak laughed, beckoning Anevay and her steed down the road. 

* * *

“So by the time I sold all the crops, it was well into the night. I stormed back to the house to chew my lazy husband out for not lifting a finger the entire day only to find him bent over the kitchen table with some Tauren balls deep inside him.”

Ky’ak groaned at the memory before taking another swig of her ale. “...So yeah. That’s why I’m single now.”

"Wow," Anevay laughed as she drank her ale. "That sure is one way to come out. Not the craziest story I've ever heard though."

“You’ve heard crazier than that?” Ky’ak asked, her eyes wide with intrigue. “Oh, I _have_ to hear this."

"I came out to myself when I was 11 when I developed a puppy love crush on a Ranger. A crush that hasn't actually faded to this very day despite her dying," Anevay smirked, taking another swig.

“Really? What is this Ranger undead now?” Ky’ak said with a laugh. 

Anevay nodded.

“...Oh. Well… okay then, you win.” The orc woman commemorated that statement by raising her tankard. 

"Thank you," Anevay chuckled, as she knocked their tankards together. "Still had it even when I was engaged to another Ranger. It's like background love."

“Oh, you were engaged?” Ky’ak asked. “I’m guessing that didn’t end well?”

"She died in the fall. She's a Dark Ranger now," Anevay nodded. "When I tried to reunite, she turned me away."

“Ouch. My condolences,” Ky’ak said with a wince. A thought came to her as she took another sip of her ale. “So… Do you just have a thing for undead women?” she asked. “I mean, no judgement or anything. I just wanna no for sure so I don’t make a bigger ass of myself.”

"Not a thing specifically, I just… don't really have anything against the idea of dating an undead woman," Anevay shrugged. "I actually did ask one lovely woman to drinks last month, but she turned out to be Sylvanas in disguise."

The orc woman blinked. “Wait, you mean Sylvanas _Windrunner_? The Forsaken leader?” She sat back in her seat, looking at Anevay with total confusion and general amazement. “Wow, I never would have thought I would meet a woman with a crazier life than mine.” 

"Yeah it was a whole thing for a few days," Anevay said sheepishly. "The life of a Champion huh?"

“Clearly,” Ky’ak said with a laugh, turning to the barkeep. “Another one for me. How about you?”

"Oh definitely," Anevay smiled. "I'm having a wonderful time here."

“Terrific,” the orc said, tusks bared in a wide grin.

The two continued drinking well into the evening, discussing everything from steelworking to the recent war against the Twilight's Hammer. Anevay hadn’t taken part in much of that war, though she knew she would be called in when it was time for the final assault against Deathwing. Many of the skirmishes against his forces hadn’t necessarily required her involvement, and her new rank in the Undercity meant she wasn’t deployed for grunt work as often as she used to. In Northrend she was put in _every_ battle, _every_ skirmish. It had been exhausting work and she found it nice to actually have some time to rest regularly.

When the conversation switched to Orgrimmar politics was when things got interesting.

“I actually met with Thrall during the elemental unrest,” Anevay nodded when Ky’ak asked about it. “As Champion, he wanted my input on the selection of a new Warchief. I suggested either Carine, Vol’jin or Sylvanas, but it appears he ignored me on that front.”

Ky’ak chuckled at that, her head lulling to and fro slightly. “Typical men. Even when they explicitly ask you about something, they don’t listen.” 

“He wanted affirmation over anything else. He’d already settled on Garrosh and wouldn’t be deterred from it,” Anevay shrugged. “I don’t know why he had such favoritism toward that boy, but that he was promoted to Warchief over the Horde’s other leaders is ridiculous.”

The orc pursed her lips as she looked at the ale that swished in her tankard. “I can get wanting to appoint Vol’jin or Cairne, spirits rest his soul, but why Sylvanas? You really think the woman who disguises herself to spy on her own people is really Warchief material?”

“No less Warchief material than a manchild who thrusts his own interpretation of Orcish culture onto the entire Horde and expects them to immediately assimilate,” Anevay shrugged. “For all her faults, Sylvanas has always been an amazing leader. I’d certainly trust her with the position.”

Ky’ak flinched and looked over her shoulder. “...Well alright, but don’t say that too loud,” she warned with a definite slur to her voice. “I’d rather his agents not catch us when we’re drunk like this.” 

“I can hold my ale pretty well,” Anevay smirked as she sipped another ale. “Besides, I’m not scared of Hellscream or his agents. As long as _you_ don’t say anything against him, they won’t bother you.”

“Fair enough,” Ky’ak shrugged as she returned to inspecting her tankard. “Don’t suppose this means you could walk me home later? I don’t trust myself to not say something stupid on the way.”

“Absolutely,” Anevay smiled warmly. “And if Hellscream gives you any trouble, just send a raven to Lordaeron to inform me. I’ll be on the next portal over to handle him.”

Ky’ak blinked with surprise, genuinely not expecting such a thoughtful gesture. “That’s… awfully kind of you,” she said, her voice softer and almost humbled. “Thanks.”

“It’s not my style to put someone in potential risk and then just leave them to the wolves,” Anevay smiled, nodding her head as she took another swig of her ale. “Otherwise I’d still live in Quel’Thalas.”

“Alright then,” Ky’ak said with a smile as she raised her tankard. “Here’s to not tossing new friends to the wolves.” 

Anevay laughed and raised her tankard as well, “I’ll drink to that.”


End file.
